


you're in my veins

by dragon_rider



Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Frottage, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6320014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider/pseuds/dragon_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason Antonio doesn't date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this sucks a lot probably but there's so little in the tag i couldn't resist, sorry.
> 
> also i'm not a native speaker so i'm really sorry about the mistakes in this.

He’s been doing okay—not particularly great, just okay—with the loneliness, with the emptiness in his apartment and his heart ever since Laura left him, he’s been doing okay even without the occasional hookup to distract him and make him feel like he could still be a catch if he really wanted to.

He’s been doing okay until there’s another case that needs consulting with the SVU and he sees the way Hank looks at Detective Benson and his chest burns with how compatible they clearly are, how great they could be if she decided to heed the admiration and trust Hank does nothing to hide when she’s around, how he even trusts her with the most important thing in his life; Erin’s wellbeing, that is.

He can’t say when exactly it happened but he’s come a long, long way and done a complete one eighty in the years he’s known the Sergeant; going from hating his guts and thinking he was one of the worst, dirtiest cops he’d ever met to—well, to looking at him the same way he looks at Benson.

He doesn’t have an emotional breakdown over the realization. The ache that he can’t help but feel constantly now doesn’t let him so he just nurses a beer alone in the darkness of his kitchen, allows himself to wallow in his misery where no one can see him and resolves to keep going.

He might not have someone to share his life with anymore and his heart, the treacherous little bastard, will probably hold this torch for a long time but he likes his life.

He’s got a job he loves, he’s got the Police Youth Boxing League. He’s not going to consider himself unlucky.

***

“You need a date,” Gaby insists when they bump into each other at Molly’s one night.

Antonio almost regrets sticking around to catch up with her but knows that whenever he’s not busy, the throbbing between his lungs is plain to see for those who know him.

He swirls the shot he was absently staring at inside his mouth, lets it burn his tongue and the back of his throat. He nods, inhaling roughly through both that and the instinct of just confiding in Gaby like he always does.

She sure as hell wouldn’t like it, would probably go berserk on Voight after chewing him out for being so stupid.

He’s not really in the mood for that.

“Yeah,” he says instead.

His sister seems taken aback by his easy admission, raises both eyebrows at him while pursing her mouth in thought. Her eyes scan the bar quickly, no doubt looking for a prospective match for him.

He doesn’t need to follow her gaze to know she stops on a group of attractive women that have been eyeing him ever since he arrived, gossiping and giggling between each other in a very not subtle way.

“If you looked less gloomy, you could go home with one of them,” she remarks.

“Or two, if you wanted,” Casey adds because of course he’s been listening and Gaby smirks at his comment, giving him a look that he can translate to ‘don’t be an idiot and go for it’ and that says a lot about how fucking pathetic he must look.

She’s not exactly in favor of using women like this, after all.

Antonio entertains the idea for a brief moment, his mind quick in ruining it for him by picturing Hank and Detective Benson hanging out at some other bar with less cops and firemen around, a more private place where they sit close and share work related problems and probably more than that too.

His breath catches for just the slightest bit.

“It was nice seeing you, I’m gonna go now,” he announces gruffly, stepping out of the stool to pay his tab and pointedly ignoring both the worried looks he gets and the way his whole body feels like it’s made of lead.

He runs a hand through his hair, lets the cold air of Chicago numb both his mind and body and takes a cab to his place.

***

The SVU packs and goes back to New York.

They get a new case and breathing gets easier. He rides with Hank, forgets all about the nights he’s been spending with this awful yearning howling inside of him, and does what he’s best at.

Which apparently includes getting shot at.

It happens quickly. One second, Hank is touching his shoulder, holding him back from storming in to ambush the band of drug dealers they’ve been chasing and the next he’s pushing his boss to the ground after catching a telltale glimpse of steel from behind them.

It hits the vest but it hurts like a motherfucker, so much for a moment he’s certain it went right through it and he’s got this gaping hole in the middle of his chest but it turns out that’s just how the barely controlled, slightly panicked look Hank regards him with makes him feel.

That and the broken ribs he’s just acquired, of course.

“You’re fine, Antonio, you’re gonna be okay,” the Sergeant says, hovering over him while his hands prod the abused place.

He wonders why he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, why his fingers linger on the vest that just saved his life like it’s taking everything in him not to open it and check with his own hands that there’s bruising and cracked bones and little else.

“Hey,” he grunts, wincing when moving and speaking isn’t exactly the best way of dealing with the pain but that doesn’t stop him from gripping Hank’s forearm and look at him in the eye, reassuring, “I’m okay.”

“Mm,” the older man huffs, clearly unconvinced, his palm curling on Antonio’s cheek, his thumb brushing the pulse on his neck apparently doing a far better job at calming him down than anything he could say.

His hand is warm and not exactly soft but he still leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut in a way that he will very much likely regret later.

The rest of the team thankfully manages to catch the band without them and by the time an ambulance rolls around to take Antonio to get some x-rays and much needed painkillers to Chicago Med, Alvin is there to pat their boss’ back and close the ambo’s doors behind them and the EMT.

Hank’s hand goes back on him, this time to card through his recently cropped hair after taking off his beanie.

Touch has always been so natural between them, even back when they were getting to know each other, and it’s a comfort far better that whatever drug they could give him.

He talks on the phone the whole way there but he doesn’t mind. He’s there and he’s worried and he might not feel the same way Antonio does for him but he cares about him and it’s enough.

It’ll have to be.

***

He gets three broken ribs and two days to sleep the worst of it off.

He takes the doctor’s advice a little bit too literal and barely wakes a couple of times in over a day, curled alone in bed with his head too muzzy to do much else.

The meds they gave him make him too nauseous to keep anything that isn’t water down. When Jay stops by to check on him with his brother in tow he seems mad about it for some reason, complains about people that shouldn’t be prescribing strong pain medication if they don’t know how to do it properly.

Antonio just squints at him but thankfully accepts the extra drops he gives him, munching some cheese sticks while Jay stocks his fridge like he’s a man on a mission.

“Voight’s been awful today, man,” his buddy tells him when he’s done, inviting himself to drink Antonio’s beer since he can’t have any, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he misses you.”

He snorts, putting a hand over his ribs when that sends a jolt of pain through him. Jay steps closer to him but he waves him off, leaning on the kitchen counter for a couple of seconds to get back his bearings.

“If he’s been awful to you, buddy, that’d be him remembering you’re screwing his daughter.”

His friend shakes his head, frowning a bit, “No, I mean—I mean he obviously doesn’t like it, but he didn’t only yell at me, you know.”

“Huh,” he replies, not very intelligently because the room is spinning, and he rubs the corner of his right eye while Jay leads him by the elbow back to his room.

He has to bite his tongue not to admit it’s him the one who misses Voight and not the other way around.

***

His wounds heal—the ones caused by the bullet, that is.

The raw spot in his chest only gets worse but he gets better at ignoring it so it’s nothing to worry about.

Hank doesn’t bench him on their next assignment, thank fuck, and their easy synchronization is all they need to make it through unscathed this time.

It’s taken him months and months to notice it but the way they move around each other, filling all the voids the other leaves and knowing exactly when to push forward or to withdraw is nothing short of amazing.

He wonders if Hank can tell too, how great of a partner Antonio is for him, if that’s why he picked him for his unit despite of the not small detail of him putting him in cuffs first.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

***

He’s pinching the bridge of his nose after reading his post-mission report for the third time before submitting it when he feels a familiar hand on his shoulder and looks up to find Hank behind him, looking indulgent.

“Leave that for tomorrow, Antonio. Let’s get outta here,” he suggests, squeezing before letting go, and Antonio doesn’t need to be told twice.

He thinks they’re going out for drinks, doesn’t really ask where they’re going as he rides shotgun in Hank’s car and blinks, quirking an eyebrow when they park outside his boss’ home.

The older man doesn’t invite him in with words or offers any kind of explanation, expecting him to follow him inside almost as if it was some kind of test.

Antonio stops just by the door, pondering what it is they need to discuss that can’t be breached anywhere else.

Hank grabs him by the back of his neck, pinning him against the wall, and crowds close, eyes boring into his.

He knows, just like that, that he’s been found out.

And for all that he prides in knowing his boss well, he can’t for the life of him figure out what the expression in his face means, whether it’s good or bad or something in between.

“Hank, I—“ he croaks, his mind fishing for words that are eluding him.

Hank’s breath against his lips, his nose gently nuzzling his, is all the warning he gets before they’re kissing but it’s enough because by then he’s already clutching the older man’s shoulders, determined on keeping him close and closer, practically melting into him when Hank weaves an arm around his waist and nudges his lips open with a skilled brush of his mouth.

He closes his eyes, focusing on the flick of their tongues together and the way their mouths fit and seal on top of one another, breathing raggedly whenever they part briefly to take breaths while nuzzling each other’s cheeks.

He still has no idea what Hank could want but he lets him pull him onto his couch when making out flushed together against the wall stops being enough, their jackets and shoes scattered on their way in as they scramble not to let go of the other.

They rut against each other, their hips slotting together so easily they don’t even notice the frenzy with which they’re moving and biting into lips until they’re coming with low curses and grunts in their pants like they’re fifteen and don’t know any better.

Antonio blinks up at him, stunned by a number of things but mostly just that this is happening at all.

Hank smiles, sated and soft like he’s never seen him.

“Guess you’re gonna have to stay over now,” he says like it’s no big deal, “Lend you some clothes for tonight, what do you say?”

He has the impression there’s more the older man is asking even if he doesn’t know exactly what it is yet.

He’ll be damned if he says no just because of that.

“Yeah,” he smiles back, happy, “I’d like that.”

This time, he leans in first.


	2. Chapter 2

“Shower’s upstairs,” Hank offers, his voice even raspier than usual sending a shiver through Antonio’s spine that he barely just manages to suppress.

He swallows through the discomfort of losing the older man’s weight on top of him when his boss—that he just dry humped, Jesus Christ—stands up and nods, feeling stupidly awkward all of a sudden.

He watches Hank’s back as he retreats into the kitchen and he’s so disbelieving about all of this it’s all he can do not to pinch himself to prove that he’s dreaming and wake up with an even bigger ache in his chest because this happens to be exactly what he wants.

***

He picks a pair of seemingly forgotten sweatpants from the very back of Hank’s closet, shaking his head at himself when he has to go Commando since the boxers he just washed in the sink will take a while to get dry.

His own t-shirt feels too tight, the patch of skin between that and the pants that are a little too loose on his hips making him bite his lip in sudden, almost nonsensical anger because it’s not like Hank is going to think he’s trying to seduce him. He was the one who was brought here and kissed within an inch of his life after all and he refuses to act shy and fidget just because he doesn’t know what to expect.

He pads barefooted downstairs to catch the Sergeant flipping meat on a pan, the smell of it making his mouth water. The other man is wearing the same jeans and shirt he was when they—well, when they very willingly and desperately got each other off—but judging by how comfortable he looks as he moves around, Antonio would bet he’s gotten rid of the stickiness underneath.

He takes two cold beers from the fridge and places them on the breakfast table. Finding the cutlery and plates takes a little bit of more effort but he manages, running a hand through his damp hair when Hank turns to look at him and makes a vague, deep sound of approval in the back of his throat.

He doesn’t need an invitation to sit and eat the steak and potatoes the older man places in front of them and it’s so absurdly domestic he wants to laugh but doesn’t, the uneasiness of not knowing what the hell to do now too thick to maneuver through.

It’s been long years since he’s been in this position, prey to the slight but definite awkwardness of getting in someone else’s pants and having two paths laid in front of him from which to choose from; pretend it was—and it will be—just sex or risk getting his heart scratched—or broken, if he’s feeling particularly brave—if he admits to having feelings that sadly don’t involve his dick on this.

There’s something that’s been bothering him that kind of takes the decision for him and he’s just chewed a couple of bites before he’s probably putting his foot in this wonderful but unexpected thing between them.

“What about Benson?” he asks, looking up to catch the moment Hank stills at the mention of her.

He’s trying, he really is, to keep it casual but his voice betrays him, too small and intimate for Hank to think he’s asking just because. It’s been months since she’s visited the precinct but he can still feel his insides being scrapped raw with the fond glint in Hank’s eyes whenever he looked in her direction.

“What about her?” the older man shoots back, expression closing off in a way that has bile rising in Antonio’s throat.

Fuck if he’s going to be second best, even to the man he’s fallen for harder than he ever thought possible.

“You really going to make me say it?” he bites out, frowning but lowering his eyes and turning his head to the side when it turns out Hank can really be that cruel, “Fine. You like her, you look at her like—like you want her to stick around. Anyone can see that.”

“So?” is all he gets in reply and a watery, incredulous laugh makes it out of him when he doesn’t get the platitudes he should be getting if Hank actually wanted him around as something more than a friend and colleague.

It takes him a minute to decide whether it’s worth it or not but he figures he’s outted his feelings enough and leaving with a little less dignity can’t hurt him more than he already is.

“So I want to know where do I fit in all that,” he sums up, inhaling deeply as he forces himself to face Hank head on and lock eyes with him.

 _If I’m not what you want, what do you want from me?_ That’s what Antonio is asking and it seems to catch the Sergeant with his guard down, for once.

The man stares at him like he’s gone and punched him in the gut.

“Antonio,” Hank breathes out at length, just when he was turning to stand up and leave in the hopes of forgetting this whole evening ever happened and salvage whatever he could of their professional relationship.

He’s there crouching in front of him in the blink of an eye, taking one of his hands in his and stretching up until his fingers curl in the back of Antonio’s neck.

“I like working with her,” he admits in a whisper and it’s ridiculous, how Antonio doesn’t even have to strain to hear him because they’re that close and he’s that accustomed to every and each of his tones.

“She brings out the best in me,” he jerks at that, tries to break free from Hank’s hold only for the other man to tighten his grip on him, “But so do you, every day. I picked you for a reason, you know, and it wasn’t because you were the only one with enough guts to try to put me in jail.”

Antonio huffs, half in amusement and half to cover how relieved he is, the pressure lifting from his chest leaving almost too much space for him to breathe after dreading he’d ruined everything between them by talking too much and too soon.

“C’mere,” Hank orders, like he’s expecting the younger man to get on his knees for him just like that. He raises an eyebrow, letting the hand on his nape tug him halfway to meet Hank’s lips but waiting for him right in the middle so they can kiss.

The contact is slow, not so demanding and frantic this time. It’s searching and gentle, as if they’re both trying to figure out each and every of the other’s moves.

Dinner is cold and the beers are lukewarm by the time they part but neither complains about that.

They leave a trail of clothes on their way to Hank’s bedroom and he’s expecting things to escalate again, welcomes Hank with arms around his neck and legs spread for him to fit in between when he dives in for more kisses, hands roaming the older man’s back as he squirms and exhales roughly at having his neck assaulted by little—and not so little—nips and sucks.

Then both their cellphones go off and they grudgingly let go of each other.

Getting out of bed is a struggle but one that they conquer easily.

Work will always come first, after all, and Antonio wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

Alvin gives him a knowing look when he arrives at the crime scene with Antonio but he ignores him for the time being, focusing on the double homicide they have in their hands instead.

Antonio treads close to him just as usual, the personal space between them almost non-existent. He leans in even closer to hear the younger Detective’s take on this, a satisfied spark in the pit of his stomach at knowing he knows exactly how those lips taste now, possessiveness gripping him when he thinks about how he’s the one who got them to look so pink and swollen tonight, how if he looks down Antonio’s neck he’ll catch a glimpse or two of the hickeys he left there earlier.

He puts his hand on Antonio’s back like he’s done a hundred times, fingers resting easily on his shoulder blade as Antonio nods and gives him his whole attention, listening to his instructions without being shy about any misgivings he might have about them just like Hank needs him to.

It’s not until Antonio leaves with Halstead that he acknowledges Erin and the curious look she’s giving him.

“Went to celebrate somewhere with Antonio?” she asks because of course she noticed they’re wearing the same clothes from the day before.

He grunts an affirmative, watching Erin’s eyebrows raise as she keeps assessing him.

One of the cons of having people you trust so much being so close to you, he guesses, is that you become very easy to figure out, to read. He can tell Alvin needs no pointers to know what happened and Erin probably just needs a couple that he doesn’t feel very willing to give at the moment so he sends her to follow another lead with Atwater and decides to deal with one snoop at a time.

His old friend pats his back, lets out an indulgent sigh when Hank refuses to comment.

“Just be careful,” Alvin says, cocking his head to the side before adding, “You’re gonna break the kid’s heart if you’re not.”

He nods, mind tracing back to his kitchen and the forlorn look in Antonio’s eyes when he asked about Benson.

He thought he’d be furious, thought he’d flip at being accused of using the man he trusts as his right hand to forget about an alleged crush on a righteous woman that would never want to settle for the likes of someone like him but he’d felt flattered and shocked instead.

After just a few kisses and some rutting, Antonio had basically shouted this was no game for him and hell if Hank didn’t think that was something to admire in the younger man.

His candidness, his courage, those are some of his favorite traits on Antonio.

“And then I’ll have to kick your ass,” Alvin tacks on, smiling when Hank gives him an unimpressed stare, “He’s good, Hank. We’ve rubbed off on him, that’s for sure, but he’s still good.”

It’s him the one who sighs this time, weathered, “Yeah, I know.”

It’s taken him long enough to take Antonio home and decide to deal with whatever consequences that can cause.

Whether he deserves him or not, only time will tell.

***

They’re at Antonio’s place when they pick up where they left off, pushing and pulling each other until they’re finally tangled in the sheets with nothing but their own skin separating them.

He licks his palm and takes Antonio in hand first, fondling him firmly and quickly just the way he himself likes. He’s rewarded by a moan he’s been looking forward to hearing ever since he first pinned his underling to the wall of his own house and he groans when he’s unceremoniously dragged close until their dicks are getting part of the friction they badly need from rubbing against one another, the rolling of Antonio’s hips seeing perfectly to that.

He adjusts his grip so he can get them both off, his free arm encircling his lover’s hips until his fingers curl on his hipbones to keep him close. Antonio digs blunt nails into his waist, tongue hot and demanding in the kiss they sneak between heavy pants and grunts.

Their lips fit together in ways that make it hard to breathe and his hand moves on instinct alone as they chase an orgasm that rocks them both so much they stay stock still as their cum dries on their groins and their foreheads can’t seem to unglue from the other.

“Huh, I’m gonna—“ Antonio says, reaching clumsily for his discarded t-shirt and wiping the necessary places on their bodies before it gets too uncomfortable.

“Easy,” Hank chuckles, guiding the younger man’s chin up so they can kiss again, unhurried and sated this time instead of going at it like they’re facing time on a race they ought to lose.

The sweat on their skin cools quickly but that’s not why he curls behind Antonio and holds him close, mouth entertained in brushing the shell of his ear and provoking little shivers and pants.

“You like cuddling,” Antonio points out, tone somewhere between incredulity and delight. “ _You_. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I can stop any time you want,” he rasps, playful, and his younger lover scoffs as if affronted by the emptiness of the threat as his shin brushes Hank’s, locking their legs closer.

“Yeah, right,” he tosses a grin over his shoulder before straightening just enough to put the covers over them since Hank makes it clear he’s not planning on letting go of him anytime soon.

The way Antonio falls back into his arms warms his heart so much he almost bursts with it but he covers it up by planting a kiss on the crook of his neck and closing his eyes, feigning he’s too worn-out to do much of anything else.

He feels the younger man falling asleep not long afterward, barely moving in his hold as if not to disturb his own rest.

He stretches to kiss the cheek Antonio isn’t pressing against the pillow, nosing the soft hairs on the back of his neck as he finally allows himself to drift off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is me celebrating jon seda is coming back to the show. 
> 
> sorry about the delay? i haven't written anything in half a year, wow. sorry this sucks but i love them so much i can't help myself.

It catches him by surprise, to say the least.

He’s known all along Hank is a man of actions instead of words, but he’s so far from expecting to get room in the Sarge’s closet after just a couple of weeks of sneaking time in their hectic schedules to be with each other that he stares at the empty space and swallows, knowing more than well this has to be the first time the older man has allowed anyone to be close to him after his wife’s passing.

Camille’s ghost isn’t in the room with them, has never been if Antonio is honest with himself, but as his partner showers he can’t help feeling like he won’t be good enough to fill the hole she left in Hank’s life and heart.

He scratches the back of his head, chest still heaving with worry as he brews fresh coffee and makes bacon and eggs for them to eat for breakfast after rummaging through the fridge.

It’s early and he’s got plenty of time to stop by his house and change but he still feels like running off if only to stop feeling like he won’t ever be up to par.

“Hey,” Hank greets him by the stove, nuzzling the spot just beside his earring as his hands curl proprietarily on his hipbones.

Antonio presses back into him, turning his head to murmur a, “Morning,” right over his lips before kissing him gently in thanks for being a lot more open and willing to commit to this, to __them__ , that he could’ve ever hoped.

***

He’s glad he’s paired up with Jay when the only witness to the case they’re working hits on him, promising to be all the more forward with the information they need if only she could have a moment alone with the cute Latin Detective.

“Jesus, man,” Jay chuckles good-naturedly, “You’re dating someone, aren’t you? I swear to God women can just smell it on you and you’re suddenly catnip just because you’re off limits.”

He laughs too since his friend isn’t really off the mark at all, “You know, I wouldn’t put it pass some women to smell the desperation of a single man and be put off because of it.”

“I guess confidence is sexier.”

“It sure is,” he affirms, “You talking from experience? Too much temptation since you’ve made it official with Lindsay, huh?”

Jay nods, huffing as he looks to the side, “You have no idea.”

The case demands their attention enough that it’s a couple of long hours before they can go back to the topic and Antonio would be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping for them to just drop it.

“So who’s the lucky lady, pal? Do I know her? You should invite her to Molly’s so we can tell her all about you,” Jay is smirking, of course he is, and it’s not his fault how mad the question makes him so he takes a deep, deep breath and shakes his head.

“It’s a guy,” he says, tone clipped, “And it’s none of your business.”

“Woah, okay, no need to get defensive, you know,” Jay says, raising his hands as if to emphasize the fact he means no harm, “I didn’t know you swung that way but I’m cool with it.”

“Yeah?” Antonio presses, disbelieving, “You’d be the only one.”

Jay pats his shoulder, his eyes so soft there’s no way he can yell at him. “I can’t vouch for the whole district, you know, but I’ve got your back, Antonio, I can promise you that. And I know Erin and the rest of the team do too. Hell, I don’t even think the Sarge will bat an eyelash about it, considering how much he likes how you work.”

That makes him snort but smile at the same time.

Oh, if only Jay knew.

“Right,” he accepts, “Thanks, buddy.”

“No problem.”

***

The next time he walks into Hank’s house, he’s got a duffel bag on his shoulder and he feels a little bit like the day he asked Laura to marry him; like he’s handing someone a box of matches and a door to his heart that they can use to set it on fire and destroy him from the inside out if they feel like it.

His boss is there to greet him, literally chases away most of his doubts with hot kisses and warm, sure hands on him.

Antonio doesn’t stay behind, clenching his hands on the leather of Hank’s jacket to press him to his body as he licks his way into his mouth, and satisfaction curls somewhere deep in his belly when he hears the older man grunting from it.

“I was gonna call you,” Hank rasps, lips brushing his ear entirely on purpose when air runs low and they can do nothing but pant and recover as they hold each other, “We got a case.”

“Well, let’s get going.”

His partner smirks, brief but obviously pleased, and Antonio shakes his head and tries not to smile too hard.

***

It’s ridiculously easy to set up a routine, one they’re both comfortable with.

When they don’t have a case going on, they spend every night together. Every couple of weeks or so, Justin comes to visit with Hank’s grandson and Antonio erases himself from the equation without being asked.

He hasn’t told Hank about how he’s only able to see his kids every once in a while—usually just a couple of hours during the weekend, whenever Laura feels magnanimous enough to let him—doesn’t want him worrying or worse, threatening his ex with all kinds of Hell if she doesn’t allow Antonio the time he deserves with his children.

The thing is, he’s not sure he deserves much of it. If he was a better father, he’d quit his job and spend every minute of his time with his kids; making them happy and taking care of them. That’s what Laura said, some of it at least, part of the reason she left.

Both Eva and Diego are kind of too old to be coddled that way if you ask him but maybe he’s wrong. He’s only ever been good at boxing and being a cop. He sucked at being a good husband and he’s just able to be a regular dad, not an extraordinary one. His duty to the city will always come first and not even the scare with Pulpo and him kidnapping Diego could change his mind, so he’s pretty sure nothing will.

So no, he doesn’t deserve more time with his children. He’d love to have it, he aches whenever he’s free and it feels like he hasn’t seen them in forever, but they’re living the life now; Laura moved in with her lawyer boyfriend and the guy has enough money to pamper his kids in ways Antonio could never afford to.

She still has the bakery but now the place is fancy and in a good neighborhood. Leaving Antonio was probably the best decision she’s made in her entire life and that’s—well, that’s something he’ll have to come to terms with. Someday.

“Papi, we miss you,” Eva insists every time they see each other, “We want to see you more often.”

“Please?” Diego throws in the puppy eyes he still hasn’t outgrown how to do.

Antonio smiles slightly, kisses both on the top of their heads and promises, “I’ll try, sweetheart, I’ll try.”

He doesn’t tell them it’s actually their mother the one who doesn’t let him see them much. His problems with Laura are his own and they don’t need that drama.

He doesn’t want them hating their mother, even if it means they’ll resent him instead.

***

He miscalculates and Justin is still around when he comes back to Hank’s house one day.

He fumbles for all of three seconds, fishing for some excuse to have let himself in like he lives there too—he kind of does—before Olive greets him with a kiss on the cheek and hands him Daniel.

Antonio blinks, adjusting his grip on the baby with little effort. He tries to ignore the pang in the middle of his chest, the one that comes from remembering when his kids were little and he thought they’d be the happiest family in the world.

“Hank is making dinner,” Olive explains with a smile.

He nods, thinking he should definitely leave when Justin appears ready to go out and helps his wife into a heavy coat.

“We’re gonna get dessert,” he says simply, “Mind looking after the little rascal while we’re out?”

Daniel gurgles, trying and almost managing to pull Antonio’s earring with his chubby little hand and he chuckles, dodging the attempt with the ease of practice, “Of course not.”

They thank him and leave and he paces a little in the living room, rocking Daniel in his arms when he loses sight of his parents and gets understandably unhappy about it.

When he turns around, he catches Hank looking at them with a glint in his eye that he can’t quite place.

“Hey,” he greets, ducking his head as the baby nuzzles into his neck, “Sorry, I should’ve texted you first, I didn’t think they’d still be here. I can leave.”

His boss and lover shushes him with a hand on his nape and a smile that’s so soft and content it hurts a little to look at, “I’m happy you’re here.”

They haven’t talked about this; how much of their personal lives they’re willing to let overlap, who they’re telling what they are now and who they’re not.

Antonio is not going to ask. He just smiles too and helps the Sarge with the cooking when it turns out the tomato sauce won’t stop tasting too bitter, Daniel being passed in their arms as they try and succeed in saving dinner.

***

Olive puts their son to sleep as they’re setting the table. He was dozing already, drooling on Antonio’s shoulder after tiring himself out dropping every spoon he could snatch in the kitchen at least ten times.

Justin gives him a Look while they eat and he honestly can’t blame him; it’s not normal, visiting his boss on a Saturday night and intruding on a family dinner, so the fact his son figured it out with no conversation required is no surprise.

“My old man deserves to be happy. I’m glad he’s not alone anymore,” it’s all he says when he pulls Antonio aside, shrugging like that’s all he has any right to say.

He pats his shoulder awkwardly and goes back inside, leaving Antonio to freeze and gape at his retreating back.

***

“How are Diego and Eva doing?” Hank asks once they’re alone again, doing the dishes.

Antonio is glad he’s doing the washing, so he has no chance to fidget as he replies, “They’re good. Busy with school,” not that he’s seen them recently, but that much is easy to guess.

It’s been a hard pill to swallow but his family is doing better than they ever were with him around.

It’s still weird, looking down at his hand and not seeing his wedding ring on his fingers.

Some days, he even misses the weight of it.

He doesn’t miss Laura, not anymore, but he does miss the constancy sometimes.

What they have is different; Antonio knows he’s in love but he won’t demand the same from his partner, won’t seek any kind of confession.

He knows Hank enough to know this isn’t him not wanting to be lonely and if he’s too stupidly insecure after his divorce that’s his own damn problem, if he maybe needs to hear the words but knows he may never get to, well...

It’s been a couple of great, incredible months. The ache between his ribs is a good one now, at least most of the time, and he has no fucking reason to want anything else.

No reason at all.

***

Lindsay ambushes him while he’s down in the cage, watching a suspect that’s mostly out of it after being chewed out by Hank and him.

“It took me a while, you know,” she says conversationally, “I didn’t think he’d break his own rule, see, but then I realized he had—for you.”

Antonio can’t help but feel kinda grateful his partner has a son and a daughter and that’s it. This is about all he can deal with.

He raises an eyebrow, expecting and welcoming the shovel talk he can see coming.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

She’s so protective of Hank, so loyal. Antonio loves that about her, loves that there’s always going to be someone irrevocably in the Sarge’s corner.

“What do you want me to say?” he counters, looking at her with every bit of courage he can muster.

It’s not like he’s going to talk feelings with her. They’re friends and coworkers, sure, but he hasn’t even had The Talk—the one with the L word—with his goddamn boyfriend, so he’s sure as Hell not having it with his daughter.

“That you’re not messing around would be nice,” she says, her rasp rougher than usual, promising all sort of dangerous things if he messes up, “You gotta know Hank hasn’t been with anyone since Camille. And now you’re, what, living together? What am I supposed to think about that?”

“He invited me in,” he replies, clenching his jaw but keeping his voice calm, “And I would never take advantage of him, Erin. He’d kill me first, anyway.”

“Wait, he started it?” she repeats, stunned.

Antonio laughs, “It’s real flattering, you know, that you think I’d have enough balls to do it but yeah,” he looks down, can’t bite back the small smile that wants out, “He did.”

Lindsay seems appeased with that, touches his shoulder with as much camaraderie as always.

“I’m still gonna kick your ass if you hurt him, Antonio,” she proclaims with a smirk, clearly teasing him.

“Oh, trust me, I know.”

 _ _I’ll kick my own ass too, don’t worry about it__ , he doesn’t add but considering the soft look she gives him and the approving pats on the back, she kind of figures it out anyway.

***

Antonio flails in the dark, blindly reaching for his gun, a hand caressing his back for him to lie back down as a mouth sucks on his ear.

“Shh, it’s me,” Hank soothes, his low voice sending shivers through his spine as he takes Antonio’s hand in his before he can reach his bedside table, “Let myself in, knew you wouldn’t mind.”

“I like it,” he declares, so there’s no doubt his lover can come over to Antonio’s sad little apartment any time he wants.

The older man chuckles, teeth digging in teasingly at the back of his neck, just where his back starts.

He arches, going up on his hands and knees, tries to get his body closer to his lover’s hovering above him and is rewarded with kisses between his shoulder blades.

His back is sensitive enough that he moans with it, turning his head in time to catch Hank’s lips in a messy, long kiss that gets him half-hard and more than a little desperate for more.

Sex between them has always been hurried, to the point. They don’t have the luxury of time very often and when they do, it’s like they don’t want to get used to it.

He hears Hank undressing one-handed, his other palm firm on his back, keeping him still with that small gesture and nothing else, only letting go to get his boxers off his legs.

His heartbeat is loud enough to deafen him, quick and fluttering, when his lover is finally naked and pressed against him, luring him into another filthy kiss that makes his toes curl and rutting against him insistently, dick sliding between his cheeks hot and wet and undemanding.

The angle of his neck should be uncomfortable and strained but is anything but, the feeling of their skin together all he wants, all he can focus on.

“Hank,” he croaks, lips stinging and body trembling, almost seizing when the older man starts jacking him off deftly.

“Antonio,” his lover whispers, tentative like a question, and he nods jerkily, not knowing what exactly it is he’s asking until he feels fingers brushing against his rim.

He spreads his legs, takes a big, shuddering breath as he feels Hank’s thumbs pressing against him, not quite going in just yet, just massaging the puckered skin of his hole patiently and tugging at it from time to time.

“You’re so good to me,” his partner marvels hoarsely, pausing in his ministrations just enough to slick his fingers with lube and keep going.

The realization that Hank came prepared, wanting this and __expecting__  it, has Antonio twitching, untouched but so turned on it’s not even needed.

God help him, but he’s so gone for this man he’d do anything he asked and anything he didn’t too.

He bites his lip when the first finger breaches him. It’s strange but not at all awkward, smooth and almost easy as he opens to it with a sigh. Hank pushes it in until he can feel the rest of his hand against him, repeats the motion enough times for it to start making a squelchy sound that makes Antonio blush.

Hank kisses him between one finger and the next, not withdrawing from him, and Antonio reaches to clasp a hand around his lover’s neck, deepening the contact enough to leave them both breathless and aching.

He holds his breath as the older man rolls the condom on, relaxing slightly when Hank peppers his nape with kisses as he starts to push inside.

It’s a tight fit, almost hurtful, and the way he’s tensing against it is not helping so he breathes through his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for it to pass.

His boss is not small by any sense of the word and they probably should’ve worked up to this gradually instead of all at once but that’s not their style, not really, so he rocks his hips back as soon as it stops being too overwhelming and whimpers as Hank starts to move.

His thrusts are steady and slow at first, firm and gentle all at once, and he reaches behind him with an arm, curling it around his lover’s neck, too tempted to touch himself but feeling like he’ll burst into flames if he does so soon.

The friction inside of him is almost good enough but not quite and it’s frustrating until Hank’s hips stammer and he has to hold on to Antonio’s hipbones with both hands to get the rhythm back.

The angle changes and suddenly his jaw is slack and his voice wrecked, little pants and groans leaving his throat almost constantly as he feels almost every nerve in his body singing with pleasure.

“Fuck, Hank,” he can feel himself clenching around his lover’s length, can’t manage a smirk when he hears the older man grunting loudly and speeding up, “ _ _Fuck.__ ”

He’s __leaking__ , so hard it hurts, but it’s not long until Hank weaves a hand around him and squeezes him tight, his hips rough and stuttering as he’s driving into him.

He arches, his orgasm hitting him suddenly, almost forcefully, and gasps at feeling the older man pulsing inside him, finishing in fast thrusts with a short but satisfied groan.

They’re panting loudly, still flushed together, and Antonio cranes his neck to nuzzle against Hank’s stubble.

He’s utterly spent and he hopes his lover is feeling the same. He figures he is when they barely manage to avoid the wet spot after the older man pulls out and puts his arms tight around his waist as they settle on their sides, curling against each other.

“You good?” he asks, nosing the sweaty, short hairs at the base of Antonio’s neck.

“Yeah,” it’s not a lie, not really, but he’s glad Hank can’t see him wincing as he gets used to being sore in a place he’s kind of never been sore before.

He smiles as he feels his partner falling asleep with his head lolling against his shoulder, sighing and following close behind.

He’ll definitely get used to this.


End file.
